Memories Not Left Behind
by siapom
Summary: Zack has returned to the US, but he's unable to forget his experiences overseas. This is just one morning of many... A bit AU, or maybe not, now that Seas 3 is underway.


Disclaimer: As always, the characters aren't mine to keep. I'm only borrowing them for a little while.

**SPOILER WARNING**…Sort of...for Season 3. Not that I've actually read any of the spoilers. But, just in case you don't want to know that Zack is coming home... You've been warned. Of course, given that I haven't read the sides and spoilers, this story bears no real resemblance to what might happen in the show.

**A/N:** I honestly have no idea where this story came from. For what feels like the first time in ages, I had the urge to write; but this was not at all what I originally had in mind when I set my fingers to the keyboard. And, since I'm not in the military and have never been through the experiences they share, I sincerely hope that the final concept of this story comes across okay. If anyone has any problems with it, or considers it insensitive, please let me know. As always, no matter what their content, reviews are greatly appreciated.

_**IN HONOR OF THOSE THAT SERVE**_

**Memories Not Left Behind**

The air was choked by filmy clouds of grainy dust as chunks of plaster and debris rained down from the crackled ceiling above. Outside, yet another enemy shell exploded, causing the battered building to quake and more than one person to fall to their knees, unable to keep their balance as the building swayed and moaned its protest to the assault. Those that were able scrambled to their feet, shouting instructions and grasping at equipment, intent upon saving the next life and completing their part of the mission. However there were others, either dead or too injured to stand back up, that were forced to lie where they had fallen within the hospital's dark rooms and cramped hallways that were packed with too many casualties and too few supplies. As the thunderous explosions and sharp crack of gunfire continued outside, medics scrambled to triage the living. All the while, morgue personnel weaved in and out of the screaming and moaning maze, focused upon those that were quiet to help them locate and remove the bodies of the dead.

It was to this scene that Zack Addy returned every night in his dreams. It had been two months and six days since he had finalized his duties overseas; but at night, in his mind, he had never really left. Still he awoke in the wee hours to the echoing sounds of enemy gunfire and the wails of the wounded. His vision was filled with images of earthen floors littered with writhing, ravaged bodies. He could still smell the perpetual stench of blood and death. The only difference was that now, when he awoke, his ragged breathing forced gulps of clean, cool oxygen into his lungs instead of the fine, gritty powder that had constantly hung in the torrid air of that God forsaken place.

As with all of the other nights, the air conditioned coolness of his apartment was the first rational fact that his mind registered, reminding his panicked psyche that he wasn't still in Iraq – that instead, he was safe at home in his own bed. And as chilled air swirled from the vent overhead, he started to shiver, his sweat-soaked sheets twisted around his lean form, sticking uncomfortably to his still overly warm skin. As his pulse slowed, Zack rubbed a shaking hand down his face and looked to his left, knowing what his clock would say before he could even focus on the numbers. 3:23 am. It was always about that time when his nightmares would be too much for his slumbering mind to bear. Hell, he hadn't slept past four o'clock since his return.

Unwinding the sheets from around his legs, Zack slowly sat up and placed his feet on the chilled, wooden floor. Blinking away the mental residue of the past, he stood and padded toward his bathroom, welcoming the blaze of light as he flicked the switch to on. He knew better than to try to fall back asleep. On the few occasions that he'd accomplished that goal, the night terrors had intensified; and after the last experience, he no longer bothered to try. Now, he just focused on the mundane routine of getting ready to face the day. Brush the teeth. Turn on the shower. Stand under the steaming water until the trembling faded away.

Once fully cleansed, he stepped out of the shower stall and grabbed one of the luxuriously soft towels from the rack. Slowly he dried his body of moisture, imagining that he was also absorbing the memories of his past so that they too could be cast to a pile on the floor. It wasn't until he was done that he knotted the towel at his waist and turned to face the mirror. There, as always, he was surprised to see his reflection and realize that it was really his own. His hair had yet to grow back in, and he vowed that when it did he wouldn't ever cut it short again. His dark eyes were still wide with keen intelligence, but they were now duller than they used to be…although he was unsure if that was due to lack of sleep or the weight of the recent past on his thoughts. His body was still slim and only slightly muscular. However, he would never lack proof of what he had experienced, for his body would always betray his mind's desire to forget. Without conscious thought, his hand raised to lightly trace a finger along the still red lines that laced his chest and stomach. The scars would forever give testimony to the ordeals he had faced.

Turning his back to the mirror, as he quickly did every morning, he walked to the closet to grab something to wear. Here, again, he had reverted to his old, comfortable habits. Faded jeans and a t-shirt, both washed a few too many times to be considered fashionable. Over that went a long sleeved shirt, just in case the lab was chillier than usual. Next were white socks and a scramble to find a matching pair of sneakers. So far, Dr. Saroyan hadn't said anything about his attire. However, he knew that at some point he would need to go back to the clean-cut image that she preferred. But, not yet. He needed just a little more time.

As he picked up his phone and hit the speed dial button for the cab company, he quickly grabbed the other items that he would need for the day. Badge…an extra pen…macaroni and cheese for lunch…lab coat...

He stopped his hand as he realized he was reaching once more for the one and only memento that he had brought home with him. It was a smooth stone that sat in a place of honor on his night stand. It was a small thing, but it had been polished until it shone. It's milky beige color bright even in the dim light easing in through the east facing windows. Every morning since his return he had placed that stone in his pocket. He wasn't sure of the reason why. Just as he wasn't sure of why he would find himself placing his hand in that pocket numerous times a day to assure himself that it was still there. But, today, as with each day past, he couldn't stop himself from picking it up. And once picked up, he couldn't force himself to put it back down. Sliding it into his pocket, he shook his head and quickly walked to the door. The sooner he got to the lab the sooner he could get to work. And the sooner he could get to work, the sooner he could momentarily forget the lifeless eyes of the little girl that had gifted him with the pretty bauble just before that final explosion had ripped apart his body and ended her too young life upon this world.


End file.
